


in the glow of the warmth you throw

by waywardrenegade



Series: king//lionheart [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Slice of Life, Writer AU, dumb boys fooling around in a lake, i don't know how to tag...clearly, summer feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:52:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3869407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardrenegade/pseuds/waywardrenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank’s completely transfixed. The sun drenched hills and ponds before him, the man laughing at the energetic dog bringing him a toy repeatedly, and the feeling of contentment setting over him are all his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the glow of the warmth you throw

**Author's Note:**

> So, at this point, I should probably just own up to this being ridiculously self-indulgent, eh? Especially considering Hank can't cook and Marc's far more grumpy irl. Sorry, not sorry.
> 
> This is technically part of a series, but it does stand alone. :)) Title's borrowed from the Gotye song "In Your Light".
> 
> Many thanks to [hlundqvists](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hlundqvists/pseuds/hlundqvists/) and [kindofdanceit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kindofdanceit/pseuds/kindofdanceit) for being the cheerleaders I needed to finish this and for reassuring me it wasn't godawful. <3

When Hank comes home from meeting Joel at a diner downtown for a late lunch, he hears Marc before he sees him. Hank’s insanely grateful for the extra few moments to prepare himself for the sight, honestly. The air in his lungs gets trapped, and it’s hard to breathe for a moment.

The splashing and muffled _woofs_ give Marc away, but it still makes a lump of emotion stick right in Hank’s chest to see Marc so utterly relaxed and joyful. He looks almost innocent, childlike, in his carefree actions.

Marc’s waist deep in the larger of the two ponds behind their house. He’s basking in the July sun, as he throws a ratty floating rope for Leon. They’d rescued the Australian shepherd a few months back when he’d come limping onto the farm with his paw stuck in a trap. He and Marc had bonded incredibly quickly as Marc had nursed him back to health.

The summer sun has already blanched some of the ginger from Marc’s hair, but the copper still catches the golden light and gleams. Water glistens on his tawny skin, runs in rivulets across planes of freckled chest and strong arms until it meets the band of the navy trunks slung low on Marc’s hips. His mouth is stretched wide around a smile that nearly overtakes his whole face as he calls to Leon.

Hank’s completely transfixed. The sun drenched hills and ponds before him, the man laughing at the energetic dog bringing him a toy repeatedly, and the feeling of contentment setting over him are all _his_.

When he can longer hold himself back, Hank slips out of his worn leather loafers and begins to undress. He pulls the soft cotton V-neck over his head and steps out of cut off denim shorts gracefully. His clothing is strewn about the grass haphazardly because he never once stops moving toward the objects of his affection.

Marc’s so enthralled with his and Leon’s game of fetch that he doesn’t see Hank until he’s sidled his way over and rests his chin on his shoulder.

“Hello, handsome,” Hank says lowly as his lips brush the sensitive skin of Marc’s neck.

Instead of speaking, Marc throws Leon’s rope as far as he can, nearly halfway across the pond, then turns to Hank and drags him under the surface. His gangly limbs wrap around Hank’s body and hold them both underwater. Scarcely a beat later, their lips find each other.

It’s not the usual frenzied kisses they share before they take each other apart, the summer heat making them both syrupy slow. Marc gives just as good as he gets, letting out little whimpers that lose their sound to the water, but Hank knows him.

After a moment, Hank realizes Marc’s hazel eyes are wide open. They lock to Hank’s as Marc pulls back a few inches, sticks his tongue out, then floats up and away. Hank stays submerged until his lungs are burning and his vision gets a bit spotty around the edges just to remind himself this is real.

When he bobs back above the blue-green lake water, Marc’s waiting for him. He gives Hank a minute as they both watch Leon saunter his way to the sprawling deck before he stretches out in the last remaining beam of sunlight, then he launches an all out assault.

His hands are everywhere that his lips aren’t, setting a pace so hurried and frantic that Hank almost struggles to catch up. The drag of Marc’s calloused fingertips, rough from a summer of gardening and handiwork around the farm, across Hank’s skin is making him crazy. His hips cant upward in search of friction, but the buoyancy of the water renders the action useless.

“Not gonna happen, babe. Let me take care of you,” Marc says, voice gone raspy with arousal. There’s a flush to his cheeks that wasn’t there a few minutes ago, and it gives Hank a rush of proud satisfaction.

Hank nods jerkily at that and sinks his teeth into the meat of Marc’s shoulder, hoping to urge him along. He’s rewarded with a sharp intake of breath before Marc’s shoving his hand into the tight space inside Hank’s boxer briefs with no finesse.

When Marc’s nimble fingers finally, blessedly, wrap themselves around Hank’s length, he’s the one left gasping.

“M-Marc, please...need it. Come on, babe, please. I’ll be g-good. So good for you,” Hank babbles, coherency lost somewhere between the flick of Marc’s wrist on a particularly good upstroke and Marc’s tongue tracing his lips.

And Marc, well he’s not exactly silent himself. He’s spewing little, desperate whimpers as he brings Hank closer and closer to release mixed with strings of absolute filth.

“Henke, let me feel you. Want you all over me, marking me up out here where anyone could see us. Imagine that, them seeing the great, reclusive Henrik Lundqvist getting off outside, hair plastered to his forehead, as he begs so prettily. Well come on, give them what they want. Give me what _I_ want”.

Marc’s voice is wrecked and gritty, and that’s what finally gives Hank the final push he needs to let go, spilling into Marc’s wet palm with a protracted groan.

Hank needs a bit to come down from the rush and falls backward with a splash, floating with limbs loose and relaxed. It’s not long before Marc’s shadow slinks between Hank and what’s left of the sun’s warmth. When Hank finally opens his eyes, he’s met with Marc’s hot, predatory gaze and a mischievous grin.

“I think you owe me something, and I intend to collect on that,” Marc growls in a tone so unlike his usual that Hank’s already getting hard again. It’s not often that Marc takes the lead, and Hank’s so, so into it whenever he does that he tries to draw it out for as long as he can get away with.

He decides to play coy and spin this in a way they can both enjoy. It’s not until he’s easing out of the water and toward the soft grass underneath a young tree that he speaks. “Oh, you intend to collect it, yeah? Better come get it then.” Hank makes the challenge in his words clear.

As soon as Marc takes the bait and steps toward him, Hank pounces. His hands yank so hard on Marc’s trunks that there’s an audible protest from the seams, but neither of them could care less. Their lips crash together, rough and so good. Hank barely has the forethought to brace his hands on either side of Marc before they tumble to the ground.

Marc’s hips buck up into Hank’s, and the action springs free his erection, the length of it resting between them as the tip sits against his lower abs. Hank wastes no time then, just licks his lips and slides down Marc’s thighs to swallow him down in one swift, practiced move. Marc’s fingers tangle in the fine hair at Hank’s nape and push Hank’s head lower because he knows he can.

Between broken whines and choked off moans, Marc’s making a valiant attempt to warn Hank that he’s close, but he’s paid no mind. Hank just hollows his cheeks a little more and urges him on.

It’s only a moment later when Marc comes hard down Hank’s throat, with Hank’s hands bruisingly tight around the juts of his hipbones and his name on his lips as the summer sun casts their skin in gold.

Hank hooks his fingers in the elastic of Marc’s trunks and drags them up with himself as he leans in to kiss Marc, to share the taste of him between them. When he speaks, just a low murmur of praise, his voice is raw, throat happily sore.

They lie there a while longer, until the crickets begin to chirp out their lullabies and Leon whines for a bowl of kibble. Marc’s head rests on Hank’s stomach, and Hank’s fingers trace along the delicate bones in Marc’s wrist, both utterly content in the moment.

“Let’s get up before we regret it. We can make dinner, maybe?” Hank says eventually. He offers Marc a hand and pulls him to his feet with a quick tug.

“Yeah, Hank, let’s make dinner,” is Marc’s reply as he intertwines their fingers and gifts Hank with a grin as striking as the sun setting around them.

Hank gathers his clothes from where they’re strewn about the yard, and they hold hands as they trek toward their house. With a low whistle, Marc signals to Leon that it’s time to come in. He bounds up the stairs and leaps toward them excitedly, yips of happiness pouring from him.

“C’mere, boy. You miss your dad?” Marc asks easily as he sinks to his knees and buries his face in Leon’s mottled fur. He glances up at Hank just in time to see the utterly fond expression he wears around Marc more often than not. “You soft on me, babe?”

“Oh, sweetheart, you have _no_ idea,” Hank says earnestly, affection in his voice. He curls a hand protectively over the back of Marc’s neck and squeezes gently before he makes his way inside. Knowing Marc, he’s content to stay out with Leon a little longer, spoiling their dog thoroughly.

When he finally comes in, Marc puts on a playlist of summer country as Hank moves about the kitchen, preparing a quick stir fry as the warm night air breezes in through the sliding door. He chops thin strips of peppers, carrots, broccoli, and ribbons of tender peppered steak he’d let marinate overnight as Marc sings off key about sunshine and whiskey.

With the aroma of spicy beef in the air, Marc’s terrible singing, and Leon at Hank’s feet begging for scraps, it feels like _their_ home, like they’ve perfected the domesticity that takes others decades to find. It’s a feeling Hank has spent the better part of his life searching for. He found it in the lanky writer who is defiant, a bit reckless, and everything Hank never knew he wanted until it was too late.

After they’ve eaten, Hank nudges Marc back toward outside, a bottle of Riesling tucked in the crook of his arm and two glasses in his left hand. He eases Marc down in the hammock they put up last week, taking care not to drop the wine. Hank pours them each a glass and watches the long line of Marc’s throat as he swallows; the motion stirs an arousal in Hank’s gut that has no urgency.

Marc must see the glassiness in his eyes, even in the dim evening light, because he leans in and says softly, “I think you should kiss me now.” He takes another sip as Hank leans in, letting Hank know exactly what it is he’s chasing.

When his lips touch Marc’s, Hank puts everything he feels, the desire, the bone deep affection, and swell of pure joy, into it. The Riesling tastes even sweeter when he’s drinking it from Marc’s kiss, an act so intimate that Hank’s a little in awe when he pulls back.

“Oh, Marc, I love you so much. You’re perfect, babe, so good to me. For me,” Hank whispers in the small space between them. His words get tangled up in the humid night air like Marc’s legs around his, and it’s all Hank could have ever asked for.

Marc’s fingers intertwine with Hank’s as he nestles in closer, putting more of his weight against Hank’s chest. When he speaks, it’s to murmur, “We’re good for each other, you and I. Love you too,” against the stubble on Hank’s jaw.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are welcomed and encouraged! Thanks for reading. :))


End file.
